


Bucky Birthday Fic

by a_xmasmurder



Series: Cleaning Out My Drive (MCU only) [7]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Gen, Parties, The Avengers Tower, elk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 15:37:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14216319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: Birthday boy needs a party.





	Bucky Birthday Fic

**Author's Note:**

> Unfinished, because this has literally been a couple years in the making and it just isn't going anywhere. *shrugs* It was a strong start, I think.

“Congratulations are in order, warrior Barnes!”

As morning wake up calls go, this one isn’t so bad. Bucky’s got his head buried under every pillow Steve owns, so the shout sounds more like a muffled roar. Which, by Thor standards, is pretty tame. He groans and knocks a few pillows off the couch so he can lift his aching head. “Oh, yeah? What for, getting ran over by the APC or for creaming the latest asshole to threaten Manhattan?” 

Thor is posted in the middle of Steve’s living room, still decked out to the nines in full battle armor and cape. Glorious is a word Bucky would use to describe the scene, except for one glaring detail. Somehow, the Asgardian prince has gotten his mitts on a Hello Kitty plush and is cuddling it to his chest like a favorite toy. He grins at Bucky and hugs the plush cat tighter. “A fine day for celebration, is it not? For a fine warrior as yourself, reaching such a milestone in your life must call for it. When is the feast occurring? I must make certain we have enough food for everyone.”

“Feast?” Bucky rubs his temple and hisses. He forgot about the goose egg on his forehead. “Uh, how ‘bout dinner?” That’ll give him enough time to get washed up for a ‘feast’, he supposes. “I gotta get dressed.” He’s heard of the epic after-battle Avenger meals. Steve might want him to look halfway presentable for it. 

“I will coordinate with Stark and order the elk.” Thor turns on his heel and, after passing a suitably stunned-looking Sam, actually uses the front door the way it was intended to be used.

“Elk?” Bucky blinks. “An actual elk?” He throws the covers off and twists into a sitting position, then flops against the back of the couch. “Did you hear that too, or am I dreaming?”

“Naw, man, pretty sure I heard Thor say he’s ordering an elk.” Sam hands him a cup of coffee. Bucky blinks down at it, his hair falling into his eyes. “How do you order an elk? I thought you go out to the woods and shoot them”

“Dunno. Guess we’re gonna find out. Hey, Steve.” Sam wanders back into the kitchen. “Does Thor know how to shoot an elk?”

There’s a pause. “What?”

“Elk!” Sam shouts. “Thor’s gonna get an elk for some reason!”

“A celebration,” Bucky mutters. He drinks half the coffee and gets to his feet. “A celebration that he thinks he needs to plan for, guys. Guys? Should we stop him?” In the kitchen, Steve is at the sink. He’s shirtless, dabbing at a cut on his ribs with a damp washcloth. Bucky watches as he puts the cloth down and rips open a gauze pad. “Do we need to celebrate something?”

“Eh?” Steve turns around. “Your head looks better.” He peers at Bucky for a second, then goes back to poking at his ribs.

“Thanks. I can’t see your lung anymore through that cut, so I guess we are still working.” Bucky swallows more coffee and weaves around Sam to get at the coffee maker. “But I need an answer. What are we celebrating?”

“Don’t ask me, I just woke up.” Sam pats Steve on the shoulder. “And you’re just ridiculously huge, man.”

“How does one order an elk? Do you go on eBay or something?” Bucky drains another cup before Steve finishes at the sink. “Do they sell elk steaks at the store?”

“I’m not that big, my apartment is in New York.” Steve mumbles around the roll of white tape in his mouth as he rips off another strip to hold the gauze to his skin. He says it like it explains everything. It sort of does, in Bucky’s experience. “Anyway, why does Thor want an elk? He’s not going to eat it, is he?”

That brings another image to Bucky’s mind, one that makes him snort with laughter. “Oh, God. Can you imagine Stark’s utter shitfit if an elk shows up in the Tower? An actual, live elk? Horns and everything?”

Both Steve and Sam stop what they are doing and stare off into the distance. It’s Steve that breaks the silence. “He’d have kittens.”

“A disaster. It’ll be a disaster. I’ll be counseling that man until he dies,” Sam murmurs. “Has he even seen a live elk?”

“Have any of us?” Bucky puts his mug into the sink and inspects Steve’s handiwork on his side. “Good job.” 

“Thanks.”

“But no one has answered my actual question of what we are celebrating.”

“I think we saw an elk in the menagerie when we were, I dunno, eight? Nine?”

“I was ten,” Bucky mused. “The first time we went, I was ten and you were...wasn’t it for your birthday? You were six or seven.” He nods. “Yeah, there  _ was _ an elk. And peafowl. And a giant ass bear. What are we celebrating, dumbfuck?”

Steve looks at him. “Your birthday’s today.”

“Huh?”

“Birthday, doofus.” Steve bops him on the back of the head. 

“Fuck, I’m old.” Bucky squints. “Sam, you’d best be getting a billion black balloons. Hell, we need everything. I’m so old. What kind of shit is this?” He goes back over to the couch in the living room and fishes his cell phone out of the cushions. “What kinda cake should I get?”

“Dunno. Whatever will go good with elk, I guess.” Sam thumbs at his own phone. “Hi, this is Sam Wilson. Can I order all the black balloons you got? And what do you have for a one hundred year-old man? Uh, no, he’s more into Metallica and cats. Lots of cats. And Metallica.”

  
  
  
  
  


“Thor did  _ what _ ?”

Tony’s ass is sticking out of the fridge when Clint walks through the communal kitchen. He’s clearly either delusional or on his phone because he’s yelling into the fridge. Clint’s hoping for ‘on the phone’. He’s not sure he can handle a delusional genius right now. Honestly, he should still be in the hospital. No stopping things with his head next time, he’s getting too old for this. He bends down and opens the freezer next to Tony’s knees enough to slip an ice pack out, then looks up. He comes face to face with a deer with its tongue hanging out. “Jesus - !”

“ _ Thor _ is the reason there’s a whole deer in my fridge? It still has fur. There’s fur in my fridge. I don’t care what it actually is, an elk is a deer is a damn ruminant in my - no, it is not  _ alive _ , what kind of question is that, Rogers? Why would there be a live elk in my fridge?”

“Ah, talking to Cap. Glad to know you’re not any more nuts, Tony. Except you have a deer in your fridge and no idea how it got there.” Clint starts looking around for a blood trail, but he’s not seeing one. How the hell did Thor get it up here? Why isn’t there any blood? He gives up and bellies up to the breakfast bar. It’s three in the afternoon, but he’s finding he no longer cares. He pulls out a hip flask and uncaps it.

“There was a chance it  _ would be _ ? How is a live elk a good idea for anything?”

“It’s not, I agree.” Clint nods and takes a healthy swig.

“ _ Thor _ said it would be fun for Freezerburn to chase through  _ Manhattan _ and kill? What is wrong with that man? Don’t answer that. I told you not to answer that.”

Clint takes a healthier swig. Natasha materializes next to him, and he hands her the flask. “You’re gonna need it, Tash.”

Tony’s less highly confused and more frustrated now. “Christ, that is so illegal, Rogers. No one can kill an elk in the middle of New York! Not even a centenarian! Listen, I highly doubt that is what the good ol’ boys used to do on their days off from the dockyards, don’t lie to me. At least not blatantly. Tell Thor he can’t - no, we are not - where the hell are you, we need to talk about this.”

Natasha finishes the flask, and Clint sticks it back into his pocket. 

“What the hell are you doing on that floor, it’s not finished - what was that crash? What are you doing?”

“This should be interesting,” Natasha says.

“It already is.” Clint points at the fridge. “There’s an origami elk shoved in there. Except it’s a real elk. And it’s dead.”

“I was wondering why all the shelves were on the counter.”

Clint glances at the sink, where the shelves are stacked neatly, with cloth separating each one. “Huh. Didn’t even see that. For a huge man, Thor is very considerate. And careful.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Concussed.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Eh.”

Tony slams the fridge door. “We will make it memorable  _ without _ killing things or each other. I promise - hold on. Who all did you invite to this?” Tony rests against the counter for a moment. “Yeah, something’s gonna get blown up. Whatever. I can feel the migraine starting already.”

“What’s happening?” Clint signs to Tony when the man stares at him. He shakes his head in exasperation and quickly flips out a response. “Damn. How old is he?”

“One hundred and one. He was born in 1917,” Natasha replies for Tony, who launches into another tirade on the phone as he runs out of the kitchen. 

“Oh. Huh.” Clint looks at the fridge, then looks at Natasha. “How’s your knife skills?”

She stares at him.

“C’mon, it’s an actual question. I can skin and portion out a deer on my own, but it’s still easier with help - why are you staring at me like that? Stop that.”

“I’m not touching that.”

“Aw, come on! It’ll be like Aspen.”

“What did we do in Aspen that would be like...oh. Oh, no. No. I’m not doing that again.”

“Hey, it kept us warm! And it’ll win us points with the Asgardians. Especially if Lady Sif shows up. Stop it with the glaring, I know you like her.”

“I will gut you.”

“And that would impress her even more, Tasha.”

Natasha nods. “I concede the point.”

  
  
  
  
  


The birthday dinner is fantastic. It’s just a few of them, since the other Asgardians disappear to get Darcy, Jane, and Selvig. Tony calms down considerably by dinnertime and even helps decorate the empty floor. He enlists the help of DUM-E, Butterfingers and U. DUM-E spends more time letting Bucky twirl it around with his metal arm. 

“I think DUM-E loves you.”

“You are a strange little bot,” Bucky ignores Tony and talks right to DUM-E, who whirs with happiness and zooms around the floor. 

During the decorating party, Logan and Piotr show up. They claim they’d heard about the elk fiasco from Spiderman and couldn’t resist a good barbeque. Tony calls Logan a lumberjack and bows when Logan flips him off with a claw.

Clint and Natasha clean up the elk and cook what Clint calls ‘Carnivore’s Delight’. Fresh liver, blood sausage - Thor had collected all the blood and secreted it away - and heart, elk steaks and shank and ribs and oh so much more glorious meat. Potatoes, carrots, collard greens and butter noodles. Sweet potato pie and maple ice cream, somehow homemade. Clint. Can. Cook. 

Bucky leans back and pats his belly. “And I’m tapping.” 

Sam groans. “This is worse than Thanksgiving at my grandma’s house.” 

“All of this, so good!” Wanda scraps more potatoes off her plate. “Like my mother’s cooking.”

Clint shrugs and blushes at the compliments. “I have a family. I love to cook for them.”

Bucky lets out a belch and immediately blushes scarlet. “I’m so sorry.”

“Compliments to the chef!” Tony shouts. Steve salutes Tony for the wisdom, and Tony throws a napkin at him.  

Bucky leans forward once more. “So, while Steve and Pietro start scraping at the bones for more sustenance, how about you an’ me go someplace dark and scary and talk shop?” He’s speaking to Natasha, but he’s really only trying to get her attention.

She looks at him. 

He smirks. “How was dinner, darling?”

“I cut it into smaller pieces for you so you wouldn’t choke, old man.”

Across the table, Steve chortles into a pecan pie that’d appeared out of nowhere. Bruce, who showed up late but is chowing down on a veggie curry Clint found the time and ingredients to make  _ somehow _ , smiles at the noises Steve is making. 

Tony taps the side of his champagne glass with his knife. “Alright, alright. Ladies, gentlemen, quasi-human and otherwise. There’s a reason you all are here, on a floor that doesn’t properly exist, against my wishes and the wishes of my insurance consultants. Seriously, it’s unstable, someone’s gonna die tonight. Anyway,” He continues as people start throwing more napkins at him. “Anyway, we are here to celebrate a milestone I doubt the rest of us will ever see.” He holds up his glass, and Natasha does the honors of filling the rest of them. One after another, each Avenger holds up their glass. Bucky feels his chest tighten, and his eyes start to burn. “We all have to believe in second chances. Another chance to make it right, to make it work. And our posterchild is hitting a landmark.” Tony looks straight at him. “Happy birthday, Barnes. One hundred years will never look this good again.”

Bucky holds up his glass, and Natasha bends down to whisper in his ear, “С днём рождения, дорогая моя.” She fills his glass, and he smiles. “Here’s to those who wish us well -”

Steve pipes up, “The rest of them can go to hell!”

  
  
  
  
  


So the night progresses - or stumbles backwards into shrubbery, depending on how you look at it. The dinner is dignified and perfect. The actual party is better suited for a 21st than a 100th. But.  _ But.  _ If you look at it from Bucky’s perspective, it’s fine. Because he may be old as fuck now, but he doesn’t feel it. And really, it’s hard explaining to people why he looks like he’s in his twenties. So he’s going by Steve’s school of thought - that the last seventy years doesn’t matter. Well, age-wise. Steve’s turning twenty-six. That practically makes him a frathouse bro. And it makes Bucky fuckin’ thirty. So what if it’s yet another milestone, whatever. It’s still...younger. And he might be drunk. Actually, he is. He flops into his seat and nearly trips over his silver walker. Glitter tape has been wrapped all over it, and yellow tennis balls have appeared on the feet. 

“Thank the gods for Asgardian booze, my man!” Steve slaps Bucky on the back. “How ya feelin’?”

“Like we should be listening to something other than whatever the fuck this shit is?” Bucky rolls his head on his shoulders and takes another swig of beer. “Is that booze made from unicorn tears or something?”

“No idea. But it’s blue, and it’s amazing.”

“You’re drunk too!” This realization has Bucky in hysterics. “Steve is drunk! Yay for me!” 

“Good for you!” Tony rolls to a stop next to them. He’s astride a red Hoveround scooter. A box of cigars is in his right hand. A bottle of Stoli Elit is in the little basket on the front of the scooter. “Here’s to you, birthday boy. Have one, they are stupidly expensive.” He holds out the box, and Bucky takes one for himself and one for Steve. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
that is the story of how Bucky and Steve don old man outfits for Bucky’s 100th birthday party: New Balance velcro walking shoes, high-waisted khaki dress pants, button down plaid shirts, and CVS special walkers. Bucky even found gray wigs for them. They wander around a fully decked out ‘old man party floor’ with Opus X “A”s sticking out of the side of their mouths and tumblers of Stoli Elit in their hands. Black and silver balloons bop around, smoke machines pump out fog that plays off the disco ball and laser lighting they’d installed to Tony Stark’s complete horror. Sam is in the corner, nursing a whiskey Old Fashioned and shaking his head at the spectacle in front of him. Bruce and Pepper are next to him, with similar looks of stunned awe on their faces. Tony had buried himself into a really old bottle of Scotch earlier in the night, and is currently riding a Hoveround around the dance floor, chasing Kate Bishop on her own Hoveround - purple, of course. Spiderman keeps muttering about ‘getting grounded for staying out too late’ when he doesn’t think anyone can hear. Logan and a few of the older mutants are milling around the DJ station, and Bucky keeps heading over to talk to them. There’s lots of other people there, and somehow the Reeds show up, and are doing _nefarious things in the corner_ , according to Tony, who just ran over the birthday boy’s foot. Bucky’s cackling, Steve’s bent over his walker in hysterics, and Sam’s grinning like a damn fool. Because his friends are finally happy. The music quiets down and everyone is treated to an old Russian folk story told by Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov while donning the cleaned skin of the elk. It lasts fifteen minutes, and starts a round of folk stories. Even Steve gets involved, telling a couple stories he remembers his mama telling from the Old Country - ‘Eire’, he says, and Sam can tell how it fascinates a very drunk Tony Stark. Thor and his Asgardian friends had brought the good booze, and Steve was drunk too, falling back into a lyrical combination of Brooklyn and a bastard stumbling of Irish he’d picked up in DUMBO. They all end up so trashed that everyone ends up in the communal area of the Tower to sleep it off.


End file.
